


Unwind/Unravel

by helwolves



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Finger Tape, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaking Around, Very Minor Come Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helwolves/pseuds/helwolves
Summary: Sneaking around after practice. Tendou is pretty gross but Semi is pretty into it.Or: it was finally time to be the finger-tape smut I want to see in the world.





	

It’s not that Eita needs to call it a night yet, it’s just that he needs a breather. Maybe some electrolytes. Maybe—

“Don’t,” he says, noticing Satori slinking under the net onto his side of the practice court. He frowns at how ragged his voice sounds, how raw his throat feels. Sure, his quads are protesting a little, but he’s definitely got a few more—

“Nah, we’re done.” Satori’s circled behind him and his voice is very low. It makes Eita jump.

“You can— _ha_ —head out if you want.”

“Eita-a-a-a-a...” Satori sing-songs softly, as if that alone is a convincing retort. His hands drag up Eita’s bare arms, long taped-up fingers rough from today’s hours of regular practice—and then making half-assed receive attempts for however long Eita’s still been here drilling jump serves.

Eita straightens and Satori grips his shoulders, hands slipping under the seams of his sweat-soaked tank top and digging into sore muscle a little too hard. It’s part massage, part assessment, part... something else. He hisses when Satori’s thumbs press in deep, at the base of his neck.

“All this tension. Not good, ya know?”

If it’s a game Satori’s playing, Eita isn’t exactly sure yet. He isn’t ever exactly sure, if he’s being honest—but of course that’s part of the fun. And he knows there’s more than overworked back muscles on the other boy’s mind right now. Eita’s hyperaware of their proximity, of how he’s being loomed over.

It’s really easy to forget, what with how he’s always slouching and crouching and countless other awkward contortions of his body, that Satori’s got quite a few centimeters on him. Most times that Eita’s reminded, it kinda pisses him off.

Most times.

He lets himself slump backwards. It’s like a few seconds of freefall before his back hits Satori’s chest, but Satori was apparently ready for this, not stumbling at all, just catching him with one hand at his hip and the other wrapping vine-like around his upper torso.

“O-oh?” Satori croons in his ear. “You wanna do something about it?”

Eita’s not breathless from serve practice anymore, but he’s losing himself just a little, just from the kind of grip Satori’s got on him. He closes his eyes and rolls his head back. It gives Satori a good angle to graze his teeth just behind Eita’s ear.

“Pretty sure _you_ do,” Eita says.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

He’s doing that thing with his voice that’s been known to give first-years nightmares, but Eita—Eita has issues, probably, because it just makes his skin tingle like there’s static filling the air. Satori squeezes Eita’s hip once, hard, nudging his own forward so Eita can feel the proof that he knows _exactly_ what he’s talking about. 

“ _Ah_ —” Eita draws a sharp breath, and his dumb traitorous body arches back.

Satori giggles right in his ear, disrupting the mood a little, but then his hold loosens, and Eita might’ve complained if he weren’t immediately distracted by Satori’s fingers skimming up his chest and around the base of his throat. His skin’s still slick with sweat and the chill from stopping drills without any real cooldown, already oversensitive, the frayed edges of all that tape making him shiver.

“Fuck, Eita, you really are wound tight today—” Satori murmurs, nuzzling into his damp hair.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe they both should’ve gone straight to the dorms after practice with the others rather than sneaking back in. They might even miss cafeteria hours at this point. But it had been a frustrating day, the kind that would leave Eita picking at his hands distractedly and gnawing at the inside of his cheek till he tasted blood. And it had felt good to stay, the gym half lit and near empty and so quiet (aside from balls hitting the court and Satori’s running commentary that he’d partly tuned out).

But right now he just wants a fucking shower, and some dinner, and then maybe a chance to find somewhere private with Satori and—and Satori maybe has other priorities.

“Ugh, what the fuck,” Eita hisses as Satori finishes dragging the flat of his obnoxiously large tongue up the length of his sweaty neck, leaving his skin even wetter in its wake.

Satori laughs and nips at his ear. “I could _feel_ you thinking. Had to distract you!” He does it again, slower this time, his grip tightening on a slightly struggling Eita. “Is it working?” He mouths at the corner of Eita’s jaw, then leans in further...

“Yeah, no, I am _not_ kissing you after that,” Eita snaps, dodging.

With a little hum, Satori recovers easily, lapping at the skin behind Eita’s ear instead. “You say that, but last time—last time, as I recall, didn’t you end up kissing me with something lots more questionable than your sweat in my m—”

“ _Nope_. Stop.”

Eita struggles not to laugh along with him, but his nerves are firing off in all kinds of confused directions. He wants to get away from Satori’s disgusting tongue-bath, but also to press closer, give him better access for more, more... He wants to get the hell out of this gym, get cleaned up, and be somewhere private, but Satori’s knuckles lightly tracing the side of the bulge in his shorts kinda makes Eita want to pull him down and fuck him right here on the practice court with the doors wide open.

“Okay—okay,” he gasps, reason finally winning out, but just barely. “One: gross. Two: it’s totally different when I’ve just fucking _come_ , you miscreant.”

Satori’s teeth are against his neck and he can feel him grinning, a sharp thing. “Yeah, you do get pretty out-of-it after the second or third— _ow_! Why, Eita-kun, when I’m being so ni-i-ice to you...”

“Is that what— _ah_! Ah, f- _fuck_...”

Eita’s not sure that “being nice” is how he’d describe Satori suddenly sinking his teeth into the softest part of his shoulder and grinding his palm down over his increasingly interested dick, but it’s—it’s something.

He claws at Satori’s forearms and fucking moans when those teeth bite into the side of his throat again. The hand that was on his chest claps over his mouth instead. 

“Maybe we don’t wanna be testing the acoustic properties of this big empty space right now,” Satori says, his voice a little shaky—with laughter or arousal, Eita can’t really tell, but doesn’t much care. Satori lets his hand drop but doesn’t stop nuzzling at Eita’s jaw.

“Can we get the fuck _out_ of here?” Eita says, gasping between every other word, pressing himself back and feeling Satori hard against his ass. “Bathroom?”

“Mmmnn—no. Got a better idea.”

If Eita weren’t currently so compromised, he might have recognized the particular tone of mischief in Satori’s voice. But as he’s barely remaining upright, let alone able to parse subtle warning signs, he just ends up half whining, half growling, but putting up no real resistance when Satori unwinds himself from around Eita and starts pulling him in the direction of the coaches’ office.

There’s a cold breeze coming in through the propped-open gym doors as they pass. It makes Eita shiver in his shorts and sweaty tank top, but Satori’s hand is hot where their fingers are entwined. Satori weaves a bit in his gait, almost dancing across the empty gym. Eita’s thigh muscles still burn.

“Your legs are too long.”

“Huh?” Satori’s jiggling the doorknob of the small office tucked into the corner of the gym.

Eita ignores him. “Did you... think it’d be open? Or were you planning to pick the—uh.”

Satori drops to the ground like someone let go of his puppet strings. His ass wiggles awkwardly in the air while he feels around under the dusty stack of padded mats against the wall. “Usually it’d be the top of the door frame, but—” He jumps back up, waving a key high over Eita’s head. “—Tanji-san, right?” He grins down, closed-mouthed and pink-cheeked and triumphant. Eita wants to bite his bottom lip.

Hands working behind his back, Satori unlocks the door and practically falls into the office as Eita pushes past him. He’s still fiddling with the inside lock when Eita sighs, grabs him by the hips and spins him around, then shoves him against the door.

“Hi.” Satori slouches, grinning with eyes gone slitted, and he looks like he’s about to say some shit, but Eita cuts him off with a bruising kiss—finally nipping at his lip liked he’d wanted, then licking it apologetically before shoving his tongue the rest of the way into Satori’s mouth.

He can feel the other boy laughing into the kiss, and the moment when it turns into a groan, equally muffled by the collision of their lips and tongues.

Eita doesn’t really have a plan in mind for _what next_ , but then Satori’s thigh presses up between his legs, and yeah, okay, that’s good, good enough. Satori’s hands slide from Eita’s waist to squeeze his ass, pulling him closer and closer as Eita finds himself falling into a familiar, desperate rhythm grinding himself against Satori’s hip.

“ _Ha_ —god, wait—”

Satori’s hands clamp around Eita’s hips and push him away. Eita growls against his cheek, a murderous wave washing over him before he backs off further.

Then he takes another few stumbling steps backwards as Satori advances on him.

“Said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” He brushes past Eita, grabbing him by the wrist almost like an afterthought. There’s a loud _whoof_ as Satori drops into one of the battered but comfortably overstuffed office chairs.

Satori skims his palms up Eita’s thighs, over his shorts, then along the ridges of his stomach, under his tank. He tugs at the hem and flashes Eita what is probably his best guess at an innocent smile, head tilted in a way that Eita forces himself not to think is _adorable_ while stripping off his shirt. Satori’s eyes rake over him and Eita feels the flush spreading down his neck.

“You too,” he says, as if it’ll distract his attention, as if it’s possible to embarrass this guy.

Satori leans forward just enough to reach up and yank his t-shirt over his shoulders, then he slouches back in the chair, slaps his own thigh, and purrs: “C’mere, Eita-kun.”

“Lazy,” Eita says, rolling his eyes. He still ends up pushing at Satori’s shoulders, preparing to straddle him—but he’s stopped by Satori’s hands on his hips again. He huffs in annoyance, eyes narrowed. “Wha—”

“Like this.” Satori shoves at Eita’s side, spinning him around before pulling him down onto his lap. He slides his hands over Eita’s hips, down, down his inner thighs, pulling his legs further apart with hands and knees. “Good?”

Eita slumps back against him, languidly rolling his hips into the touches and pressing his ass down against Satori’s erection. “ _Yeah_ ,” Eita breathes, letting his eyes slip shut, his whole body twitching when Satori’s roaming, tape-rough hands surprise him somewhere new.

“You can say, ‘You sure do have the best ideas, Satoricchi.’”

“I’m not— _nnngh_ —not gonna say that ever.”

“Sure, sure,” Satori says, laughing. Then he shoves his hand down Eita’s shorts and grabs him, bucks his hips up to make Eita thrust into his loose fist. “What do ya say—wanna get all hot and sweaty for me again?” 

He licks up the side of Eita’s neck again, but bites down before Eita has the chance to make any protest, making him moan instead. And then Eita’s moving impatiently, shifting his hips to help Satori get his shorts down around his thighs, to get a better grip on his dick.

“Sa— _ah_ —you still—fucking tape on your hands—idiot,” Eita manages between panting breaths.

Satori’s right hand keeps stroking him lazily. “Yep.” His other slides up Eita’s chest, brushing frayed tape over one nipple. Eita clutches at the armrests helplessly when fingers wrap around his throat and give a gentle squeeze, tipping his head even further back.

The hand on his dick disappears for a moment and Eita whines, but when it returns it’s slick and Satori starts working him with purpose. He tries not to think about how Satori probably just slobbered all over his own hand, a feat made easier by the way all the blood in his head and all his attention is quickly pooling white-hot between his spread legs.

Satori shifts his grip and Eita hisses and grinds his teeth hard. The new slickness does little to negate the rough sensation of that damn tape sliding against his skin. If anything it amplifies it, makes every movement of Satori’s hand a give and take that keeps him reeling and unable to focus. It _hurts_... but it feels so fucking _good_... He wants to squirm away, wants him to squeeze harder, go faster, faster—

He doesn’t realize how much noise he’s been making until Satori’s left hand clamps over his mouth. Eita groans against it, bucking his hips harder, making them both slip a little further to the edge of the chair.

Satori offers a soft shushing sound and kisses Eita’s sweaty temple. It’s ridiculous that this alone would make Eita shiver straight down to his toes—and yet.

He still struggles to hold in the cries that keep bubbling up his throat. Satori laughs, quiet and sweet, and clenches his hand tighter over Eita’s mouth. “Don’t want to get us caught, do ya?” he purrs. “Or—maybe you’re into that? You are pret-t-t-ty worked up tonight. Is it being in the coaches’ office? That anyone could come into the gym right now? And hear you whining and begging me to make you come?”

Eita throws his head back, grinds his ass down into Satori’s lap, making the other boy gasp and roll his hips up hard. Satori’s hand slips off Eita’s mouth just a bit, and then fingertips are pressing past his lips.

In other circumstances, it might occur to him how disgusting that really is, but he has no thoughts to spare, slipping quickly beneath the still surface of the blissful dark nothingness where there’s no aching muscles, no judgmental coaches, no up-jumped snarky kouhai, no long exhausting days, no unsure future... his whole awareness narrowed to the slick hand stroking him, the reverent teeth and lips against his neck, the frayed edges of tape and salty taste of skin on his tongue.

Eita licks along one of those frayed edges and can feel the vibration of Satori’s pleased hum before those fingers crook fully into his mouth. Eita slips his tongue between the digits, mindlessly licking and suckling, getting everything very wet, making Satori curse and pant in his ear with increasing intensity.

It’s not as effective a gag this way, but he suspects that keeping him quiet has fallen pretty far down Satori’s list of priorities.

“Is that it?” Satori gasps, and his voice is so low and rough that it makes Eita’s dick jump in his relentless grip. “All that—that protesting but I think you—ah, shit—you _like_ it rough and dirty, Eita, don’t you? O-oh, fuck, I love your tongue, babe, I wanna—are you— _ahh_ —yeah—”

Eita can only manage more and more desperate choked-off whines around Satori’s fingers in reply, breathing hard through his nose. He fucking _loves_ making Satori lose track of what he’s saying. His whole body writhes as he thrusts up into Satori’s hand more and more urgently, feeling flayed open along every centimeter of skin where they’re touching and moving against each other in harsh rhythm.

When he comes, he bites down hard on Satori’s fingers, but the other boy just laughs and whispers a litany of encouraging nonsense, never letting his attention slip from stroking Eita again and again while he pulses and spills and feels like he’s never, ever going to run dry.

Seconds or minutes or hours later, Eita becomes aware of Satori gently petting his neck and along his collarbones with a damp hand. His heart pounds and he blinks away the stars behind his eyes, staring dazedly up at the water-stained ceiling.

“Fuck.”

“A-ha, you _are_ still with me,” Satori says, a bit breathless himself.

“I think I just blacked out.”

Eita realizes his voice is shaking even more obviously than his legs still are. He’s not sure how he feels about this, but he knows how Satori will.

“You’re welcome.”

“I take it back.”

Satori snorts a laugh, then shifts beneath the still-boneless wreck in his lap.

“Do you...” Eita asks, somewhat needlessly, as he can still feel a demanding hardness digging into his ass.

Satori bucks his hips once with a grunt, jostling him. Eita laughs, then makes himself heavy, slipping from Satori’s distracted arms to the floor. Satori looks down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He raises the hand still splattered with Eita’s come to his mouth and licks one finger, carefully and slowly. Then he winks.

Eita can’t help but scrunch up his nose. “That’s so—”

“Gross?” Satori supplies, looking very much like he could not disagree more, sucking the next finger into his mouth and smiling around it. There are angry-looking red scratches along his forearm. Eita kind of wants to find out how they feel under his tongue.

“—hot.”

Satori grins down at him, slow and unnervingly wide.

All right, Eita _really_ probably has issues. But it’s the easiest thing in the world not to think about any of that when he’s tugging Satori’s shorts down over his hips, when Satori’s (shredded-taped, spit-slick, come-dampened) hands are running through his hair and stroking the back of his neck, when Satori’s cock is sliding hard and hot and dripping over his tongue...

The grit of the cold linoleum floor is grinding into his bare knees. Eita breathes hard through his nose, sucks Satori as deep as he can manage, swallowing and nearly choking and drinking in the protracted, low-pitched whine he’s dragging out of him.

It’s over way too fast, but he supposes Satori was pretty worked-up tonight too.

“C’mere,” Satori says finally, tugging at Eita’s shoulders. Eita’s enjoying himself, still lapping carefully at the remnants of come glazing Satori’s dick, liking the way his wiry thigh muscles flex under his palms. But Satori’s hands are warm and insistent and the floor is far from comfortable, so he concedes, letting himself be pulled up and back into Satori’s lap, wrapped in stupidly long limbs.

When Satori kisses him now the earlier urgency is gone, but there is something else. Their lips just brushing, tongues teasing and then slipping away again, until Eita has to tuck his face in against Satori’s neck and breathe. Eita’s pretty sure Satori can tell he’s still shivering a little, but he doesn’t comment on it either way. Instead he somehow produces the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier and helps Eita squirm into it, then starts to pet Eita’s hair back into place and hums under his breath.

Eita doesn’t know how much time actually passes while they’re curled together like that. The little tune loops over itself until suddenly Satori stops and slaps him on the thigh.

“We’re probably pushing our luck,” he says, sounding amused but maybe a bit mournful. “Wanna get out of here before we miss dinner completely?”

Eita just groans, curling in closer.

Satori laughs, low and mischievous-sounding. “Do I have to _carry_ you out?”

This time Eita’s laughing, though he keeps clinging too.

“Are you _doubting me_ , Eita-kun?”

Eita starts to say “Never,” but it shatters into a string of swearing barely drowned out by Satori’s giggles.

They _don’t_ end up on the floor, but it’s a near thing—Eita scrambling to keep his hold on Satori’s shoulders as Satori heaves them both up out of the chair and stomps across the office while barely maintaining his balance. He half-pours Eita to the floor, using the door for leverage, and doubles over trying to catch his breath and choke off his laughter.

“Fucking— _told_ you,” he barks, grinning up at Eita, who only replies by shoving his earlier discarded tank top in Satori’s face. He’s just managed to tug it on straight when Eita grabs him by it, reels him in until he’s pressing Eita against the door and they’re kissing again.

Eita hadn’t really known what he was getting into when this whole thing with Satori started. He’d thought, like, maybe there’d be clandestine makeouts behind the gym, eventually a handjob or something when one or the other’s roommate went home for a weekend. But then last spring, on the bus ride back from a practice match with Tohoku’s juniors team, Satori had taken his hand.

Just like that. Mid-conversation with Wakatoshi, like it wasn’t anything. One moment Eita was staring out the window at nothing, picking at his cuticles; the next, Satori had pulled his hand into his own lap, interlaced their fingers, and never even stopped talking. He’d traced patterns with his free hand on the back of Eita’s, skimming over the sensitive part of his wrist. Eita had eventually dozed off like that, slumped against Satori’s shoulder, figuring he’d deal with the awkwardness and with getting shit from their teammates later. But that never came.

Instead: this. A kind of wild, undefined thing that actually works. Satori somehow knowing just when Eita needs a distraction. Ridiculousness like sneaking into the coaches’ office to fuck around. Finding themselves unable to pull apart from this whole kissing-against-the-door situation that’s got Eita feeling like he could easily push Satori back into the room and go another round or two...

“ _Okay_ ,” Satori gasps suddenly, as if reading his mind. He pushes his face into Eita’s hair so Eita can’t chase his lips like he’s trying to. Eita grunts. “Don’t pout,” he says, and Eita can feel him smiling into his hair.

“ ’m not pouting.”

Satori unlocks the door behind Eita’s back and grabs both of his hands, pulling him away from it. “Whatever you say, Eita-kun.” He cracks the door open and peers through, crouching like a spy on a stealth mission. “An-n-nd we’re good! God, I’m _starving_...”

“We’ve got balls and a net to clean up first,” Eita says, looking around the empty gym that betrays their last few hours of unauthorized extra practice.

“Ugh, so responsible. Fine. Cleaning up the gym, then eating my weight in curry, then cleaning up _you_.”

“I am _not_ showering with you...”

Not that it’s not tempting, but Eita can’t help remembering the last time, and Satori almost spraining his ankle trying to climb the slippery walls to hide the fact that there were two sets of feet in one stall when the baseball team had come clamoring through after their own late practice.

“You say that...”

Eita grins, looking off over his shoulder as if that’ll keep Satori from seeing it. “Get all the fucking tape off your hands first, at least.”

Satori leers at him over an armful of volleyballs, waggling his damn fingers. “You _say_ that...”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course my first completed HQ fic would have to be a rarepair among rarepairs, but I love these two. It kills me how most of the tag is gen. So here we are. (But still getting sappy because I'm secretly a big sap.)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/helwolves) // [main tumblr](http://helwolves.tumblr.com/) // [HQ tumblr](http://sadsharkling.tumblr.com/)


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